


Collide

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 21:14:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: Lu Han thinks Minseok is radiant and captivating and ethereal and pretty mucheverything





	Collide

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted in 2013

The worst is when he touches him. Lu Han is fine, he thinks, until Minseok touches him. Because then it's so much harder to swallow down his feelings. It's so much easier to make it something that it’s not when Minseok runs his fingers through his hair, links their hands, rests a reassuring palm on the small of Lu Han's back, pats his ass for good luck, wraps his legs around Lu Han's waist in a victory vice and victory scream.

It's the fucking _worst_ because Lu Han always finds himself melting forward, subconscious overriding propriety, helpless crush superseding decency.

Because Minseok is radiant and captivating and ethereal and pretty much _everything_. Lu Han's star. And Minseok makes it so _easy_ to misinterpret the perfect synchronicity of their bodies on the field, the acute awareness prickling at the nape of his neck, the perfection in the way their bodies collide after wins. Minseok makes it so _easy_ to want to channel that energy, that compatibility into something hot and forbidden.

Because they're complementary pieces, Minseok the offensive midfielder to Lu Han's forward. And Minseok gets so handsy and appreciative, flashes him one of those beautiful biting-his-lower-lip-with-his-tongue-pressing-against-his-teeth smiles, screaming about how amazing Lu Han is after every successful goal. And Lu Han catches feelings, heart collapsing in on itself, butterflies in his stomach, nerve endings frayed at the perfect pitch and cadence of his name falling from Minseok's mouth.

Lu Han has enough trouble muting his expressions, schooling his reactions. He's halfway obvious, he knows, and Minseok only slightly oblivious. Or outright cruel. Teasing him with lingering smiles and phantom smirks and chirped conversations in the gym showers over the tiled wall separating their naked bodies, Minseok standing on his tiptoes in his shower shoes, skin pale and glowing, Lu Han trying not to think about Minseok's nakedness just right _there_ or about what it would be like to press him against that disgusting white tile and caress that slick, beautiful skin.

But Lu Han is _fine,_ almost. Flustered, frustrated, fumbling, but _fine_.

But when he _touches_ him, when he touches him—sometimes almost like he knows or even feels the same—it forces a reaction, and Lu Han doesn't know whether he wants to cry from frustration or sheer happiness at the contact.

 _That's_ what makes it the worst.

 

It's been a slow, confusing burn. A heady, persistent ache. Lu Han's been enduring the _worst_ for the past 3 months.

Fine, perfectly fine until the culmination on the very last game.

Minseok passes. Lu Han scores. Minseok rushes right into his arms.

Lu Han can't breathe.

Minseok's arms wrap tight around his shoulders, and his face gets kissing close, eyes confessing soft. Slightly dazed, Lu Han's hands drop to Minseok's waist, gripping tightly to anchor himself because it feels fucking _right,_ as Minseok smooths his hands across the sweaty black tendrils plastered to Lu Han's forehead, voice bright and cheerful, thanking him over and over again.

Lu Han's heart is already racing. His skin is already flushed. His chest is already tight. His entire body is a pulse point, and the blood is rushing in his ears, the excitement racing through his veins. But the way that Minseok's sweaty flesh feels gliding over his and the beautiful cadence of his voice and way that the light seems to glimmer in his eyes, it makes his body thrum even harder. It pulls his stomach towards his knees. And has him clambering for more.

"You're so amazing!" Lu Han can make out as Minseok crashes their foreheads together, rubbing his thumbs along his temples. "You're so amazing, Lu Han!" And Minseok makes it so fucking _easy_ , so fucking _hard_.

And no, Lu Han was wrong. It's not the touching. It's Minseok's bright, clear, _adoring_ eyes, wide and fucking _dancing_. Minseok can't _look_ at him the way that Lu Han looks at him and not expect Lu Han to want to kiss him senseless. It's not _fair_.

Lu Han bites his lower lip hard at the sun glistening off of MInseok's dark hair, the flutter of his eyelashes as he keeps making him Minseok's hero. The moment is tense and beautiful and almost too much as Lu Han presses his chin into Minseok's chest and _feels_.

Powerful limbs, cheering blurs of red polyester tear him away from Minseok's tight embrace. They chant his name, congratulatory as they lift him on their shoulders. Lu Han screams back, flushed and glowing from the praise as they barrel across the stadium, past doors, towards the lockers. And Lu Han can still feel the burn on his flesh from where small hands encased him in a too-tight, too-perfect hold when they drop him unceremoniously in front of his locker a few minutes later.

As the teams rushes off to shower, Lu Han clenches his hands into varnished wood, sighs heavily.

It's the last game of the season. Lu Han's lasted this long. Minseok can go back to being a nod on campus. He can be relegated to a nighttime fantasy and a butterfly-inducing almost, who sometimes looks at him or touches him like _maybe_.

 

He notes movement in his periphery as he hooks his thumbs into red soccer shorts and stops to glance up at Minseok, who's hovering with his cheeks pressed against a locker. He still looks radiant and captivating and ethereal underneath the fluorescent lightbulbs, with the shadows highlighting his flushed cheeks and messy black hair.

Neither has showered yet, and they really should. But Lu Han just picks gingerly at his sweat-slick jersey, meeting dark, dark eyes as Minseok smiles a little shyly at him. "You did really, really well," he repeats, slightly breathless, hesitating before sitting next to him on the bench. And he's not kissing close, but his eyes are still confessing soft. He's not touching him, but it's still a lot more than Lu Han feels equipped to handle. "You were amazing. You _are_ amazing."

And Lu Han is flustered and frustrated and fumbling and _not_ fine. Flushing, Lu Han swallows as he nods and watches a droplet of sweat makes it way down Minseok's forehead, curling around a cheek before disappearing down his jawline. Looking down at his hand, breaking pregnant eye contact, he murmurs about team efforts, praising Minseok in a quiet breath for all his passes.

And then Minseok _is_ touching him, wrapping small thin fingers delicately around Lu Han's wrist. Lu Han's eyes dance up towards Minseok's face. He swallows again, holding a heavy, steady gaze. "You're amazing," he emphasizes slowly, as he rubs the pad of his thumb against Lu Han's skin.

He isn't teasing. His voice isn't playful. Oh _God,_ Lu Han is not fine.

And when Minseok gets kissing close, inching forward, Lu Han braves a soft, tentative hand to Minseok's cheek, gauges his reaction with bated breath before closing the distance further, pressing his lips hesitantly to Minseok's mouth.

Minseok sighs against his mouth, parts his lips slightly, and hums as he wraps an arm around Lu Han's shoulder, small fingers splaying over the sensitive, trembling skin. Gasping, dazed, Lu Han lets him maneuver his body, turning to kiss him more fully, deepening with a glide of his tongue and a tilt of his head.

Minseok presses his tongue against the roof of Lu Han's mouth, and Lu Han doesn't know where to put his hands. Lu Han doesn't know how to breathe.

The hand around Lu Han's wrist tightens almost painfully, tugging him upwards and backwards, only to turn him around and push him against a locker. Lu Han groans as a metal lock digs into his lower back and then again as Minseok pulls at the back of his neck to engage him in a much messier kiss, mouth as demanding as the fingers digging into Lu Han's hips and blazing over skin.

When Minseok pulls away, his eyelids are heavy, his lips red and slick, and Lu Han's quivering, whimpering. Overwhelmed, because it's going so much faster, and he's still trying to catch up. And Minseok's touching him like he _definitely_ knows, like he _definitely_ feels the same.

Minseok works his fingers through Lu Han's damp bangs as he tilts his head sharply to lap at his neck. It should be disgusting. Minseok should be disgusted, but he sucks, panting against the damp skin. Lu Han slumps backwards, only vaguely registering a high-pitched giggle, disembodied insults, the white noise of shower water, as MInseok murmurs hotly against his neck. "Amazing, amazing, amazing."

"The team," Lu Han chokes out as Minseok scrapes his teeth in a circuit from jawline to earlobe. "We should…if you wanna…?" It's open-ended and self-conscious, whispered in a rush against Minseok's forehead.

Minseok's answering smirk is downright filthy, halfway predatory. "Yes."

 

But lust animates and emboldens, and it's Lu Han that shoves MInseok into a storage closet. Soccer cleats squeak against tile as he pushes him against the wall. Thrusting brooms and mops out of the way, he kisses Minseok quiet, kisses Minseok pliant. Lips rushed, tongue heavy, he kisses as Minseok moans into his mouth, sliding his fingers along the soft, delicate skin of Lu Han's tummy.

The room smells like floor cleaner and ammonium, and Lu Han can barely make out the details of Minseok's face in the confined, dark space. But Minseok smells like freshly cut grass, like sweat, like dirt as Lu Han nuzzles into his neck, caressing heavily, almost drunkenly over the lean muscles and strong lines of his perfect body, kissing him all the while.

Lu Han kisses until he has to stop, gasping into Minseok's mouth as Minseok reaches down to tug at fabric, yank away thick black boxers and free Lu Han into his grasp. He pumps twice experimentally. Lu Han crashes into his collarbone, kissing sloppily as he chokes back a moan.

And fuck, Minseok makes everything so fucking _easy_ , so fucking _hard_.

"Touch me, too," Minseok urges as Lu Han trembles, fucks forward into a loose fist. "Touch me back."

Moaning, knocking their foreheads together, his fingers dancing delicately and teasingly, Lu Han peels away material, too, sliding down to fist warm, silky flesh. Minseok's hand goes limp around Lu Han's cock, falls heavy as he anchors himself on Lu Han's hip bone, whimpering for him to go faster, go harder.

Lu Han groans, shifting to wrap his arms around Minseok's thighs, spreading them up and out, rutting forward into the soft, fleshy part of Minseok's inner thigh. Minseok bucks back, smashing their lips and hips together in one fluid motion. He tries to gain leverage by tilting his hips up, dropping his waist, but ends up huffing in frustration. Biting down on Lu Han's neck, he wriggles helplessly, writhes wantonly, erection hot and heavy as it bops against Lu Han's tummy. His head lolls back to crash against whitewashed brick as he scrapes his fingernails across Lu Han's jersey with one hand, touches himself with the other.

Lu Han kisses him again, shifts so that their erections brush against each other, and _fuck_. He curls his body further over Minseok's, effectively folding Minseok in half. Minseok's socks ride down, bare shin guards scraping against Lu Han's arms as he rubs their cocks together, small hands skating quickly and gripping in a tight, almost suffocating ring.

Minseok's hand is too small, each caress almost excruciating. Lu Han fights to keep his knees from buckling, nosing along Minseok's neck and collarbone.

"Hold yourself up," he groans, voice low and husky. And then his hand is replacing Minseok's, thumbing over the slit of Minseok's cock on every upstroke. Freed, Minseok's hands tangle into Lu Han's hair.

The situation feels dirty and rushed, and Lu Han's eyes are still adjusting. But Minseok looks beautiful, radiant and ethereal and captivating, his eyelids fluttering, his eyebrows furrowing, his lips rounding over pants and broken chants of Lu Han's name.

Lu Han flicks his wrist, and Minseok tugs his hair sharply to meet his eyes. They're still so beautiful, still somehow confessing soft. _Looking_ at him that way as his pulsing flesh rubs against Lu Han's, he whispers that Lu Han should come because he's amazing, so amazing, he' _s earned_ it. Lu Han doesn't stand a chance, back bowing, pleasure cresting, he stains Minseok's jersey with his release.

And from there, it's two quick strokes, one heavy bite to Minseok's shoulder, before he's whimpering through his own climax.

Lu Han waits for his breathing to slow down, for the drugging, pleasurable haze to dissipate before lowering Minseok gingerly onto his feet. Minseok kisses him before he has a chance to pull away or regret whatever this was.

The adrenaline, Lu Han is already thinking, deflating slightly, the victory high. The win, the win, the win.

"You're amazing," Minseok repeats, as if by way of reassurance, squeezing the hand not covered in come. "You're so, so amazing."


End file.
